“Yeah, well, they’re probably gonna freak out no matter what. Lilah said she’d talk to them and explain the logistics, and that the only way I could go is with their blessing.” He talked a mile a minute.
“I said I understood that but that I wanted to handle it on my own first—to prove that I’m a responsible adult,” Matt explained. “I mean, I’ll tell them all about the safety precautions, and also explain how Lilah will arrange for all the documentation I need. And apparently I’ll never be on my own. I’ll fly over with the people from the medical organization, and then she’ll join us when she’s through here. Which is a bit much. You’d think I was some kind of baby. After all, I’ve been outside the country—with Dad and Katarina to Scotland after high school graduation.”
“Yeah, that was lucky.” He smelled his hands before reluctantly grabbing the phone off his shoulder.
“And get this. Lilah said she’s prepared to pay for my airfare out of her budget. Is that great, or what?”
“Great.” Press tried to sound enthusiastic. He waited in the driveway while the delivery truck from the liquor distributor backed in.
“So, I really need to talk this over with my folks. But then I promise that I’ll be over as soon as possible.” Matt’s excitement traveled over the phone lines.
Press waved the truck back, then held up his hands to stop it. He moved to the rear of it. “Don’t worry,” he replied into the phone. “I can handle things here. You’re going to have your hands full anyway getting your dad to let you go to a war zone. I can’t wait to hear how you manage that one. Knowing you, this will be the first he’s heard about your plans.”
“If I can get Katarina on my side, I know he’ll go for it,” Matt said.
“Divide and conquer.” If he proposed something similar to his father, Press doubted his old man would care one whit. He’d be more concerned that he wasn’t hanging around with high-flying investment types. Witness his lack of interest in the prestigious internship he’d won at the Museum of Natural History in New York. “Well, I suppose that means you won’t be that far from the Grantham Club of Manhattan,” he’d said between puffs on his cigar as Press stood at attention in his father’s study. “Still, I don’t know why you didn’t consider an internship at the bank instead. It’s so much more…”
“Acceptable? Like you would have done?” Press had finished for him.
Press narrowed his eyes, irritated even now after the fact.
The burly truck driver slammed shut the door of the cab and approached Press with a clipboard. “Hey, kid, you the one to sign for this delivery?”
Press nodded. “Listen, I gotta go,” he said to Matt. “Things are starting to heat up here. But don’t worry, for tomorrow night’s shift I’m going to let you pick up most of the slack. You got it?” He ended the call and grabbed the clipboard. “Give it here. The natives are restless.”
Together, he and the deliveryman wrestled the extra kegs down the short flight of side steps into the cooler that adjoined the downstairs taproom. When they finished, Press was sweating bullets.
“Yo, boy, more libations are in order,” a loud voice called from the dark barroom area. “You call this a taproom, when all involved can see the tap is dry.”
More laughter erupted. Despite the hearty guffaws and mega decibel chatter fueled by alcohol and bonhomie, Press identified the distinctive lockjaw accent. He took a deep breath and, tucking in the back of his Lion Inn polo shirt, headed out to the taproom.
“Coming.” He hustled over to the deep rich mahogany bar and flipped up the hinged end to reach the other side. With a few long strides he stationed himself behind the taps. “Did someone say we’re out already?” he inquired with a good-natured smile. “Let me just check it out.” He added a wink as he reached for a clean plastic cup and pulled down the lever. He had just switched the kegs, so he figured it was more someone’s inability to work the tap than a question of needing a new one.
“You doubt my word?” the same voice intoned. A large empty mug, the kind that the older alums still saved from their undergraduate days, was pushed into Press’s face.
“Here, let me oblige.” Press reached for the pewter mug.
And came face-to-face with his father.
Press wet his lips and didn’t say anything as he abandoned the plastic cup and took the empty vessel. He placed it under the tap. Only a sputter of beer came out. “Must be a problem with the line. I’ll have it fixed in no time,” he said all eager-beaver-like.
Another middle-aged man, his face florid, and his orange-and-black reunion blazer looking the worse for wear, elbowed his way next to Press’s father. “What’s up, Conrad? Can’t get any satisfaction from the young man, heh?” he joked. “That’s the problem with the help these days. They just don’t know how to do things right. I blame it all on the mamby-pamby educational system.”
Conrad stared Press straight in the eye. “Would you agree?”
Press smiled broadly. “I’d look at his father.”
“LILAH, SWEETHEART, I THINK your mother and I are going to have to call it an evening. It’s been a long day of traveling.” Her father rose from the picnic table and patted his stomach, noticeably fuller after two helpings of baked beans and the make-your-own sundaes. Then he placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Right, Mama?”
She beamed up at him. “No one can top your love of maraschino cherries, that’s for sure, Walt,” Daphne said. She patted his hand.
The sun was setting as the crowd began to disperse. A cranky baby hiccupped sobs, letting the world know how tired it was, and the children dragged on the arms of their parents.
“I understand.” Lilah nodded. “And, really, I can’t thank you enough for making the trek all the way out here.”
“Our pleasure. Besides, we want to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for tomorrow—with The Parade in the morning and then the big award ceremony,” her mother added.
“Do you think you’ll actually get a medal that you can wear around your neck?” Walt asked.
“Somehow I pictured something resembling a bowling trophy. Something flashy that requires a small backhoe or a contingent of large men to carry around.” Mimi stood next to the table, nursing the last of her beer. She had already driven Matt back home, and had returned to party away the night with Lilah and company.
Walt erupted in laughter and Daphne shook her head.
“You’re incorrigible, dear.” Daphne rose, moaning softly at the stiffness in her legs as she disentangled herself from the picnic bench. “Ach, my knees.” She kissed Mimi on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re around to keep Lilah from getting too serious.”
Daphne turned to her daughter. She had a twinkle in her eyes, but there was a serious set to her mouth. “You will take care, won’t you? Relax and enjoy yourself every once in a while.”
“Mom, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself,” Lilah countered.
“You’ll always be my daughter and I’ll always be your mother.”
Lilah stuck her tongue against the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something. She pressed her hands on the table and hoisted herself up. Her mother wasn’t the only one aching.
“Don’t complain. You have a mother,” Mimi leaned over and whispered.
“Justin, oh, Justin,” Daphne called out. Justin was engrossed in a conversation with their team manager, who was just about to leave, too. He held a toddler over each shoulder. Both were limp from exhaustion and liberally splotched with food and orange soda.
Justin must have heard Daphne’s cry because he looked around and held up his hand. He said a few more words to the manager before offering a quick goodbye. Proudly sporting The Tail cap, the manager saluted him. “It was better than closing a copper deal in Argentina.�
�
Justin jogged back and joined the group. He rubbed his hands together with relish. “So are we all ready to hit Lion Inn? I have to hold up my reputation as a party animal even if it kills me—and all of you combined.”
“Unfortunately, my mom and dad have decided to pack it in. It’s been a long day, especially after the flight and all,” Lilah explained.
“You’ll be missed, but it’s understandable. I’ll just grab my car and give you a ride back to my parents’ place.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Daphne replied with a wave. “Walt and I like to take a stroll after dinner every evening anyway. We usually take a walk along the beach and watch the otters play.”
“Helps with the digestion,” Walt explained and looked around to make sure they had everything. He put Daphne’s quilted shoulder bag in the crook of his arm like a seasoned husband, oblivious to the contrast of the flowery print to his rugged physique. He bent down to kiss his daughter good-night. “Take care of her, Justin,” he added as he straightened up. He gave the order with a tongue-in-cheek inflection—or as much as a father of an only daughter can be casual about these matters.
“She’s in good hands,” Justin assured him.
Lilah wondered if he meant that literally. As she worried her bottom lip, she watched her parents walk away arm in arm, her still-handsome father looming over her diminutive but sturdy mother. Despite the size difference, their strides somehow matched.
“Aw, they look so cute,” Mimi mugged. “Like Ren and Stimpy.”
Lilah disagreed. “No, that’s love, real love.”
“Stop, before you make me blush.” Mimi patted her cheek.
Lilah looked at her sideways. “You are physically incapable of blushing.” Then she turned to Justin. “So, it’s up to Mimi and me to see you preserve your reputation, then?”
Mimi held up her hand. “Hold on just a second…my phone’s vibrating. I’ve been waiting to hear from my producer, so give me a minute.” She stepped to the side.
Justin and Lilah stood there. First they were silent as they tried not to stare as Mimi furiously worked her phone.
Then Justin cleared his throat. “So you feel okay? Up to going out?”
“Oh, fine, fine.” She twisted her neck all around. “No lasting stiffness.” Then she felt her head. “And I don’t feel anything where the ball dinged me.”
“You sure?” He lifted his arm and touched her head as if to make certain.
She closed her eyes. The feel of his fingers rubbing over her scalp was hypnotic. “To tell you the truth, you do that much longer and I won’t be sure of anything.” She let her head fall back to rest on his hand.
“Okay.” That was Mimi.
Lilah snapped her head up.
Justin dropped his hand to his side.
Mimi blurted, “It looks like I’m going to have to call it a night.”
Lilah felt a moment of panic. That would mean she and Justin would be alone, which is what she wanted, but still…
“Problem at work?”
“No, problem at home. Noreen, of all people, needs me.” Mimi put her hand to her chest in disbelief. “I mean, doesn’t she realize I have a life of my own? Still, I guess when family—even mine—calls… So, I’ll catch up with you tomorrow for The Parade, okay?”
“You better,” Lilah warned her. “I have this recurring nightmare that I’ll be the only one wearing the class costume tomorrow,” she confessed.
Mimi laughed and fished her car keys out of her pocket. “Aw, c’mon. It’s absolutely mandatory that we all make total fools of ourselves. That’s what’s called class solidarity.”
“And here I thought it was called insanity.”
Mimi bumped hips with her and whispered loudly—way too loudly, in Lilah’s opinion, “No, that’s what’s going to happen between you and Justin now that you don’t have me as chaperone.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
MIMI MADE HER WAY THROUGH the kitchen, passed through the butler’s pantry to the formal dining room, and came to rest in the grand, two-story foyer of the family house. It wasn’t every day that she got to wear dirty sneakers on an antique, mansion-size Oriental carpet, and she secretly enjoyed the idea of rubbing a little dirt into a family heirloom.
Then she realized that the maid would be held accountable for the cleanup, and she slipped off her running shoes and padded to the center of the hallway.
“Noreen? Are you there?” she called out.
“In the sitting room.”
Mimi heard Noreen’s voice from off to the left, and headed in that direction. If there were too many more renovations, she was going to need a road map next time she showed up.
Noreen was standing by a Chippendale couch, newly reupholstered. The claw feet looked tightly perched on the thick carpet. She held out her hand, inviting Mimi to sit.
Mimi sat on the edge of the couch—not the most relaxed position.
Noreen shifted a dainty Louis XIV armchair to face her. “I thought we could talk in here without disturbing Brigid and her little friend. They’re having a sleepover and after make-your-own pizzas, they made bead bracelets for all the members of the family—here’s yours by the way.” She opened her hand.
Mimi reached for the pink-and-white concoction. “Gosh, I’m overwhelmed.”
“You don’t have to wear it.”
“I’ll definitely wear it.” She slipped the elastic band on her wrist. “I’m touched. I’ll have to say thank you.”
“Maybe you could wait awhile? I’ve finally got them to calm down enough to watch a DVD of Toy Story, and I need a break from all the girlie one-on-one activity. Frankly, I’m dead to the world.”
“Sure, whatever.” Noreen always seemed like a whirlwind of perfect motherly energy, which Mimi had always found a little frightening. This was the first time she had ever seen her not jump at the opportunity to be the perfect hands-on mom.
“Maybe I could get you a drink? A brandy, maybe?” Mimi offered. “I’ve gotta confess—I’m not sure what the appropriate Mommy pick-me-upper is.”
“A brandy sounds like heaven. Let me get one for you, too?” Noreen rose.
That was the thing, Mimi realized. Noreen even didn’t stand up like normal people—she practically levitated. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the one who needs a break. And besides, everything else in the house might be different, but I still know where the booze is.”
Mimi got up and went back to the dining room sideboard to organize the drinks. Something was definitely up, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Noreen didn’t have that tearstained look of a woman scorned—a look she remembered her mother demonstrating on more than one occasion.
She headed back to the sitting room with renewed interest. Noreen was seated and turned her head with a swanlike grace upon Mimi’s return. She accepted a brandy snifter. Mimi noticed the blue veins in her delicate wrists.
“Bottoms up,” Mimi said, clinking glasses.
Noreen took a sip and gulped appreciatively. “Divine.” Then she rested the glass on her knee. “I’m sorry to drag you away from the festivities, but I knew your father was out tonight at Lion Inn, so it was a perfect time to talk.”
“Lion Inn? You saved me from bumping into him then,” Mimi said. She settled back into the couch.
“It’s regarding your father, you see, that I called you and asked you to come home to talk.”
So Noreen might not be the aggrieved wife, but Mimi’s instincts appeared to be spot-on. “Is this where you tell me that my father is dumping you and you don’t know why? Because, you know, I’ve heard it all before.”
“No, this is where I tell you that I have my doubts about staying with your father, but that I’m not ready to thr
ow in the towel yet.”
“What?” Mimi was incredulous for multiple reasons. She shook her head. “I mean, why?”
“You mean, why don’t I want to leave him?”
Mimi nodded, and suddenly remembering the brandy, took a healthy gulp. The rich liqueur burned her throat.
“Because I love him. Is that so hard to fathom?”
“Frankly, yes, but then I might not be the most impartial person where my father’s concerned.”
Noreen studied her drink. “That’s one of the issues that I believe Conrad needs to address if he is going to come to grips with his life—and make a difference in yours.”
Mimi didn’t know what to say. But then the doorbell rang, saving her from revealing something potentially embarrassing.
Noreen checked her watch and rose, not quite as ethereally this time. “At last. I was expecting her a while ago, but she warned me that the trustees meeting could run long. If you’ll excuse me.”
Mimi tapped her snifter with her fingertips. Things were getting more complicated by the minute. She heard voices in the foyer and then steps coming her way. She craned her neck to get a better look.
Noreen stopped at the wide opening to the room. Next to her, a tall woman in a blue suit and a Chanel bag slung over her shoulder took over the room by simply stepping into it.
Mimi had witnessed the phenomenon before when she’d met certain heads of state or business tycoons. It was either the charisma of a natural leader or the unmitigated gall of supreme narcissists. Sometimes the two went hand in hand.
“I don’t know if you’ve met my old friend Vivian Pierpoint?” Noreen asked, making the introductions.
“I’d have to turn in my reporter’s credentials if I didn’t recognize the CEO of eSales and a fellow Grantham alum, I believe.” Mimi stood and exchanged firm handshakes.
“You believe correctly.” Vivian spied her glass. “Is that brandy, by the way? I’d die for one.” She turned to Noreen.
And Mimi got this weird vibe. It couldn’t be, could it? She noticed that Vivian wore a boulder of an engagement ring, but stranger things had happened. “Let me get it for you,” Mimi offered. “It seems like you two might have a lot to catch up on.” She practically raced out of the room and poured a drink for Vivian. Then she looked at her own glass, gulped down the brandy that remained and poured another two fingers for herself. After this weekend, she was going to have to dry out her liver but good.
On Common Ground (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 14
